honey, you're so funny. WHO: HQ in various combinations WHAT: Random NPC snippets because I refuse to network selfcest. WHEN: Within the last month or so. WHERE: Here & there, mostly Ganymede. RATING: trash. utter trash.
"Harder... ungh, right there, yes—"
(If someone was listening, the conclusions they might have come to.)
"— crap, ow, not that hard, I'm delicate."
Warm laughter and softer fingers; a kiss pressed to the skin beneath Kajal's ear. "You, delicate? All you are is wound up, Kaj. We'll have to book you for a massage appointment with all these knots in your shoulderblades. Like right here..." Pressing gently. "And here."
With little prompting, the younger woman's arm came up, one hand settling comfortably along the back of her lady's neck to keep her in place, hair catching in her rings. She raised her brows, amusement painted into the look that followed. "Mara, baby. I'm not here for an assessment. Fuss later, you mama hen."
"It's my job to fuss!" Not real indignation, only concern.
"No no no, you see, it's your job to help your patient feel better," Kajal most helpfully amended, the wicked grin now arisen. Fingertips brushed the soft hairs as the base of Mara's skull, tracing circles. "You gotta help me out here, Doc. My beautiful, perfect, precious mama hen—" to lead into over the top kisses directed ceilingward, looking for purchase.
The sputtered laughter that came of that, incredulous. "Dios mio, you're impossible."
But more than happily, Mara met those kisses, content for the reprieve from duty (for the moment).
The wrench made an impossibly loud clang against the metal where it skittered across thick grating to about three inches from Killian's boot. And it was from there that Lloyd drew his gaze upward — funny, how it always, always started from the floor, the other man looming — to meet that glower, fine-tuned just so for him. (Under different circumstances, he might have considered laughing. It was goddamn absurd. Their arguments were never more than petty squabbles; was that why he was there?)
He idly nudged the bridge of his glasses upward with a finger, not especially needing the Kamikaze's reporting officer's face so clear in view when it was already so common a sight in these last years. "To what do I owe the pleasure, Killian? Is it that time again?" He was tired; he wasn't in the mood for a yelling match today.
Evidently, there wouldn't be one. A surprise, to be sure — Lloyd surmised that Killian, too, was having as equally a long day (desk work didn't suit all, restlessness was a given) as he eyed the man on the brush past. He was more irritable, then, but quieter.
Case in point: "Hardly, Hiddleston, I'm not here for you."
Those boots stomped away heavily, the annoyance implicit in them, and before Lloyd could sigh his relief, a pair of hands came down on his head. "Just kiss already," his second engineer 'whispered' a touch too loud; she was leaping away with a cheery laugh before his swat could connect.
Tap, tap, tap. Black lacquer against mahogany, rapping in an even rhythm that didn't so much as cause the figure by the desk to so much as flinch. Vanya was a difficult person to draw much out of. Tall, dark and handsome without any of the benefits that came with it. Half of the time, it was easy to forget he was there at all. He might as well have been part of the decor, a glorified lamp.
Her nails connected with Jadzia's desk once more. Their director barely removed her eyes or hand from the forms, lips moving. "Hsiao," she warned, the tone speaking for itself. Then, one last set of raps. From nails, anyway — the tip of a stiletto knocked thick wood.
"How much longer is this going to take, Jadzia?" Silk smooth.
"As long as it's going to take," was the equally smooth return, punctuated by a sharp underline of pen. "Do you have somewhere to be, Hsiao?"
A tap of fingertips to lips, twisting. "Don't we all?"
"If you'd prefer not to squirm in your chair," another underline, ink scraping in a signature, "Vanya can walk you around the perimeter." At the mention, he adjusted his gaze, pulling it between the two women. If he could read the tension in the air, he hid it well.
Ren tilted her head back, ponytail cascading over the back of her shoulders. Flickered her own gaze to her director's decor boy, delighted (secretly) in how he averted his own out of something that was certainly not respect.
"Hm, tempting. Does he play fetch? I didn't bring my good shoes."
Between the clearing of his throat and Jadzia's hand pausing, dark and displeased eyes raising, the Killjoy director didn't know which she loved more. One last scribble, and the form was complete — and Ren rose with easy elegance, the material of her skirt protesting with the movement. Reached out, slid the form from the other woman's hand, their fingertips brushing.
Jadzia's lips twitched, though not to smile. "Mind your tongue, Hsiao. Private or otherwise."
And Ren smiled in her stead, serpentine.
"So," she began conversationally around the crunch of popcorn, white cheddar hitting the back of her throat with a fierceness she hadn't been prepared for (so salty?!), "Mama or Tequila?"
At her side, London nearly choked on his mouthful. He held a fist to his mouth, swallowing what he'd nearly breathed into the wrong pipe and coughed to clear stray kernels from his throat. "Jo, girl, that's just harsh. How am I supposed to answer that?"
She gave him a toothy grin. "Carefully." A playful elbow found him in the ribs seconds later. "I'm kidding, holy, don't inhale the whole BAG. You know my answer," she added in a such a way that London knew she wasn't entirely serious, but at least eighty percent. The Bahama Mama had been her brainchild, her biggest success to date, but it didn't mean the crew of the Tequila didn't have her heart as well, though she hadn't crafted the vessel with her own hands.
"But really, though." Jo's eyebrows went up, waggled.
He sighed through his laugh. "I'm not picking favourites, it's not gonna happen. What if I asked Lloyd or me, how'd that be fair?"
"Oh," she chirped without delay, nodding, "def Hiddles."
His mock hurt had her high-pitched laugh echoing throughout the entire loading bay.